


The Wolves of Winter

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon - Book, Canon - TV, Canon Compliant, Cousin Incest, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear, Future Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, Post - A Dance With Dragons, R plus L equals J, Rage, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post ADWD future fic. Nine years passed since the war had raged and a year and a half since Daenerys and her dragons crossed the narrow sea with Arya Stark in tow. The last Starks made their way south from the wall towards their former home with the men of the nights watch. They were not looking for peace they were out for redemption and revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revenge

There was nothing but darkness before him as he stalked the long corridors of the great keep, following the beckoning howls from beyond the castle walls. _This is the third time today I’ve heard that wolf cry and not once have I caught more than a glimpse of her._ The noises would come from the courtyard every night and every night he would go to the window and watch her scurry away into the darkness. 

But this night was different. He slowly swung the heavy oak doors on their hinges and stepped out into the night air. The snow whipped around him in the frigid breeze than nipped at his skin beneath the warmth of his cloak.

There she sat across the cobblestone square from him, resting her haunches on the uneven rocks. He grey fur was matted and stained but it moved freely in the wind. Dying leaves were ripped from their perch on the winter trees; water froze in icicles on the walls and snowflakes pilled on the ground around them.

The night was the coldest one he had ever remembered but it did not deter him from his task. He walked cautiously towards the oversized dog perched as precariously on the solid ground as she would have been on a swaying tree branch. The slightest movement out of place would’ve sent her running.

It wasn’t until he stood over the wolf that he noticed the shadowy figure standing straight and unmoving in the trees behind them. She wore a hooded cloak that covered her from head to toe and seemed to trail in the snow behind her.

The moonlight didn’t seem to reach her face creating a shroud of darkness beneath the hood but he could just make out the faint curve of her jawline and her soft brown curls tumbling over her shoulders. She didn’t say a word, just stood there, quiet, watching, waiting.

He moved his hand over the head of the wolf and she bucked against it and rubbed against his legs. It didn’t matter how much his hands moved, his eyes never wavered from the hooded woman.

He heard the flapping wings and the caw of a raven overhead but he never let his eyes leave her, he didn’t trust her enough not to focus on her small form. She was quite the opposite, her face lifted towards the light and he thought he could see the quick flicker of grey eyes in the glowing light. _It can’t be her._

A whistle that pierced through the silent emptiness of the night interrupted his thoughts. The wolf’s head spun so fast he was afraid it would snap, but he knew better. It trotted to her side and she reached an arm from beneath the cloak to stroke its head.

He saw the tip of a shining steel blade laced to her wrist and another one at her belt. She was well armed and with every movement he saw a new blade. Beneath her cloak she wore a simple tunic and leggings but even with the cold she didn’t shiver, as if she couldn’t feel it at all.

That was when he saw the other cloaked figures emerge from the darkness. It was the only time he let his eyes flick away from her. The first, a taller woman with porcelain skin and fiery red hair, was clearly visible beneath the thin silk. The second, the boy, however was even darker beneath a cloak as black as the night itself. A second wolf emerged and stood at the other side.

“Who are you?” He called into the night but there was no reply. Not a one of them moved or said a word. The three faceless beings simply stood and stared at him.  Then the first girl raised a hand and the howls of more than the two wolves he could see rang through the air.


	2. Winter's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much just a repost of the previous Chapter 2 but a couple things have changed and more was added to the scene in the Great Hall. I encourage that even if you've read it before to at least read over any parts you missed or that have been changed.

She slapped him, cold and hard across the face. She was furious at this man who had once abandoned her as a stupid boy. Taken a knighthood over family. He stared at her looked her up and down, his eyes gave away everything he thought but he didn’t seem to realise. When he had seen her last she was little more than a girl that looked every part the boy she pretended to be but she was now eight-and-ten and every bit a woman grown.

"Seven hells!" He called out, only to have a hand clasped over his mouth. Sansa completely visible beneath her cloak simply stood and studied him whispering to her about her distrust. He may have abandoned her but he was the most trust worthy man she knew, the only one who kept her secret and hid her from danger.

“Be quiet you idiot!” She barked before turning to Sansa. “I know we can trust him. He saved my life more than once.” The snapping whispers shot back and forth between the sisters. Sansa did not know him like Arya did and neither did Rickon.

When the silence fell it was Rickon who spoke first. He sounded strong and stern but his voice was on the cusp of manhood. “I am Rickon Stark, son of Eddard Stark and brother to the King in the North, the King who was murdered by these men you share a home with. My sister has seems to want to spare your life and I will honour that, but the moment I feel I have been betrayed you will loose your head.” He spoke true and didn’t falter a single word.

“I assure you m’lord I mean you no harm, I am simply here per the wishes of another.” He sounded like he wanted to believe what he was saying but he sounded uneasy. Something had caused him to stay here and not run, but what was it. “How are the three of you going to fight a hundred Bolton men? Are you just going to slit their throats in their sleep?”

“They’re not alone boy, they have all the Nights Watch on their side.” Jon Snow stood firm behind him. His unruly black curls and crow’s coat blended with the night so that only his ivory skin stood apart, a flash of white in the darkness. Several times Gendry let his mouth open and close before bending the knee instead. _That babbling idiot._

Arya charged past in a huff. “For gods’ sake could you just give him a bloody sword and get on with it. We have other priorities here.” She charged towards the Keep counting off every one of her hidden weapons. She swung the large oaken slabs on their hinges and descended into the darkness of the corridors. “Nymeria, to me.” She called and the wolf was at her heels. Soon she heard the murmurs of the others behind her as they stalked towards the Great Hall.

It was late but she could hear the voices and see the dim light inside. Two men leaned over a long table; maps and papers sprawled out before them. One was an elderly man, probably over ninety and the other was a tall bald man she was certain was the Lord Bolton. Several times they looked her way as if they could sense her presence but made no move towards the shadows beyond the doors.

Several other Lords and Ladies sat at tables around the hall still conversing and dining on Winterfell’s reserves. The winter seemed to be a long one and if the people ate like this every night they would starve before the first snow melt.

She heard the whispers behind her, Gendry’s whispers, moving through the crowds. He was looking for her, calling her name. _Stupid bull._ She spun around in time to meet him face to face and placed her hand over his mouth again. “You stupid bull, shut up!”

“You can’t go in there,” He mumbled through her hands, his warm breath soft between her fingers. “They’ll recognise you, they had Jeyne Poole here for ages.”

While keeping eye contact with him she let her face change once more, as she had learned to do in Braavos. She was now a serving girl with tumbling golden waves of hair and glowing green eyes, much like she remembered princess Myrcella.

Gendry looked on in awe as Arya faded away, he seemed astonished or appalled but was also amused. “How, how did you do that?” his mouth was agape and his bright blue eyes beaming in the darkness. She unfastened her cloak and let it tumble to the floor revealing her simple cotton tunic and coarse wool breeches.

“Not important.” She turned away from him and to Jon. “Take the others and spread around the Keep, take rooms and bring every man you find here, I want all of them to watch when I kill their Lords.” Jon nodded and turned to leave but Arya grabbed his arm to stop him. “And Jon, don’t get yourself killed.”

He pulled her into a warm embrace and whispered into her ear. “I wont little one. Same goes for you.” He took her hands in his when he started to leave once more then gestured for everyone to follow him.

Gendry, Sansa and Rickon stayed at her side, she hadn’t let them pass and she needed them there. “Gendry and I will go in.” She announced. Their gazes returned to her green eyes. “When I am close enough to them seal the entrances and do not let anyone that isn’t one of our men in or out. Understood?”

Rickon removed the hood and it fell around his shoulders. His unruly auburn curls and Tully blue eyes were finally visible in the light, he looked just like Robb had. “Arya let me come with you.” He pleaded but she would have none of it.

“You are a young man now Rickon, you look just like Robb. If these are the men I think they are, they will recognise you in a heartbeat.” She ruffled his hair and turned to Sansa. “Stay with him sister, do not let him get hurt.” She pulled them into a tight hug before anyone could answer. “Be safe.”

She tugged Gendry’s arm and moved into the light with him in step beside her. “M’lords,” He announced and his voice boomed off the stone walls. “Is there anything we can get for you?” The two men turned to face them and quickly covered their work.

“Be gone with you.” The elderly man demanded. “We have pressing matters to attend to that have no concern of Stannis Baratheon.” She wasn’t sure what they meant. Stannis was waging war with Daenerys in the South, what concern did he have in the North.

“My lords we are sorry for the interruption but we received word from the South. Daenerys Targaryen has the throne and, and…” her voice was soft and proper but she could not bring herself to reveal the return of her family, not to the men that killed the others.

“What is it girl, spit it out.” The bald man yelled, he was anxious to know what she planned to say but she didn’t know if she could do it. “Speak girl!”

“And she is bringing the remaining Stark children to reclaim their home!” they almost jumped in shock and gasps erupted throughout the hall. One man stood and tried to call for guards but there was no response, someone had clearly taken care of that threat.

When Sansa and Rickon came into the hall she could see the recognition on the men’s faces. Her Brother and Sister had become the spiting images of Catelyn and Robb, the two people they had killed years before.

“Lord Frey, Lord Bolton, so nice to finally see you both again. I know it’s been quite a while but surely you recognise us.” They looked at her with cold stares and open mouths but dared not say a word. “No? Well I should introduce myself. I am Sansa Stark and this is Rickon. Surely you remember our brother, Robb Stark, King in the North.”

“After all,” Rickon began. “You did kill him.” His blue eyes were alight in the flames of candles and the hearth but she could see the real anger burning inside him, he was furious and his rage could go unmatched by any man in this room.

She hadn’t noticed Gendry had left her side until she heard a sharp cry of pain from the bald man. She turned to face him and saw the tip of a sword piercing through his chest and Gendry standing behind him. “The Lannisters send their regards.” He said in mockery. They had been the very words Roose Bolton had said to Robb when he killed him.

Lords and Ladies alike stood and shrieked, several reached for their swords but were swiftly met by the arrival of Jon’s men of the Night’s Watch. She could see the shock spread through the hall once more when Gendry pulled his sword from the bald man’s chest and the fights quickly broke out.

Her first move was to leap across the table at the elderly man. Her weight sent him toppling and she crouched over him as he lay on the floor. She let the servants face flicker away as she pulled a blade from her sleeve and held it to his throat. “What are you?” He asked and she could hear the anger in his voice and the fear coursing through his veins beneath her blade.

“What am I? I am a human being.” She was quite amused by the shock in the man’s eyes “I think the question you search for is who am I? I am no one. I have no name to put to a face nor a face to put to a name. Some call me Wolfling and others Cat. But truly that is not my name, my name is of the North, a name that is cursed with sorrow. My name is Arya Stark and I am here to kill you.”

“Stark?” it sounded as if he meant to question her but he was too afraid, having thought he had killed the last of the Starks.

“You killed my mother and brother Lord Walder. Slit her throat and stabbed him in the heart. Now if we had had this conversation earlier I would have let you choose: throat or heart, but seeing as my friend has already stabbed Lord Roose you have no other option. Any last words?”

He stammered several times, let his mouth open and close but never made a sound. Then his face set into a hard line and he used all his might to throw her off of him. Had she not been trained he would have succeeded but she drove a knee into his side. He winced from the pain and she held the knife tighter to his throat, tight enough that a small red line appeared around it.

“I said any last words?” and before he could respond the knife cut clear across his aging throat. Blood spewed from the wound and pooled around his dying form. She could feel the little droplets on her face and she could feel the warmth on her hands but all she could think about was that she had avenged her family.

She rolled off the corpse and let the tears flow from her eyes. She had done it, she had killed the men that killed her family but not even that would bring them back. Her father, her mother and her eldest brother had died at the hands of Lannister men. The Lannisters had caused so much pain and sorrow for her family and left only the three of them behind.

She couldn’t help but think of Bran. Bran had disappeared with Hodor and two other children that Rickon didn’t remember the names of. They had gone North of the wall and never returned, all she could think was that they were dead. Killed by the Others in the haunted forest.

Daenerys and had warded off the impending doom when she rode in on the back of her dragon and burned the wight army and waged war with the Great Others, but that was little consolation to her. Daenerys was her friend but she was no replacement for the family she had lost. She missed them all and there was no way to bring them back.

Her thoughts were interrupted by yells overhead. She turned her head but her vision was blurry from tears all she could see was the fighting men but one stood out. She saw Sansa’s red curls whipping around her slim form as she held another woman to her chest and backed herself towards a wall. She held her knife to the woman’s throat while several men crept closer and closer to her lithe form. She almost didn’t notice the young man that slipped and slid between the great masses of the larger men stabbing at the ones that fared to close to his quick movements.

“Arya!” She was ripped from her eager amusement when she heard Gendry’s voice. She looked to find him and saw him point to a man charging at her from behind. The great mass of some unknown lord charged towards her small unsuspecting body sprawled on the floor. Unbeknownst to him she was aware of his presence.

Quickly she sprung backwards on her hands and drove her feet into his chest, knocking him to the floor. She landed sharply on her feet again but didn’t loose her balance. She turned to see him wincing in pain from the kick and the fall but she had no pity for these men. Instead she hoisted his sword of the stone floor and drove it into his skull.

She heard another man’s yell from behind and she spun, connecting the sword with his pulse point and driving it through is soft flesh. The blade connected with the hard bone but continued on and when his head was torn clean from his shoulders the force of the blow surprised even her.

She charged forward towards another man looming high over a cowering crow. The man’s sword was outstretched ant the tip grazed the neck of the plump craven. She wanted to let the worthless boy die but they needed every man they had so she raised her sword above her head and watched as it shone in the candlelight before driving it down into the Bolton man’s shoulder.

She gripped the pommel with both hands and kicked the limp body so it slid from the sword and crumpled onto the floor. She stood over the dead man who had once been almost twice her height and watched as the fighting began to dissipate. She leaned over the body and spat into the cold flesh of the dead man. She felt oddly triumphant

When she felt the warm hand on her shoulder she spun sword in hand and almost killed Gendry. He stepped back to give her room and she dropped the sword clanking to the floor. She collapsed to her knees sobbing and pounding on the stone until her fists were bloodied.

She thought of her family again and how it would’ve all been so simple if her father had never accepted Robert’s proposal if the Jon Arryn had never messed in Lannister secrets they would never have had to leave their home and no one would ever have died. She hated a man she never met and she felt bad for it every day.

Gendry crouched in front of her and pulled her to his chest. She tried to push him away, push away the boy that had abandoned her once before and was sure to do it again but she couldn’t move, she didn’t want to. They were sitting on the floor covered in blood and sweat, his hands were at her back and hers splayed across his chest and he wasn’t letting go. 

When she finally stopped crying he stood and hoisted her into his arms. It seemed no effort for him to carry her limp body from the hall into the cold night air where the others were grouped in the courtyard. Sansa rushed to them in a panic thinking her sister was dead but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. All she heard was ringing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder I will be reposting Chapter 3 at some point but I think I'm going to add a bit more in between this and what was previously Chapter 3


	3. Morning Glory

Arya was not one to show emotion and when she did it was an occasion to be concerned, she had cried twice the night before in the Great Hall and she was crying then. Sansa sat and clutched Arya close to her chest on the hard sleeping pallet. She rocked back and forth with her sister on her lap whispering to her how it would be alright how everything was going to be fine.

“Sansa?” Arya asked in a small voice when the crying began to subside. “I never got to say goodbye. Not to mother, not to father and not even to Robb.” She sat up and frantically wiped at her face trying to dry the stray tears that still fell. “Was it wrong that I never said goodbye?”

Sansa took a moment to think on the words, she tow had lost everyone but never had her mind crossed this. She could only ever think of how they were gone, she never thought about her goodbyes. Finally she simply said, “No.”

Arya nestled back into her chest and began to dose of when the tent flaps were pulled aside and the afternoon sun poured across the mats and furs strewn across the floor. Rickon stepped inside their shared tent and sauntered towards Arya’s sleeping pallet. “Is everything alright?” He whispered as he slipped off his boots and slid beneath the furs.

He was almost a man grown now at the age of three-and-ten, a boy who led an army with an unmatchable rage. He was something to fear yet when he was with his sisters he was softer than anyone would ever know. Sansa looked up from stroking Arya’s hair and gave him a soft nod before returning to her task. “Something happened in there. Something broke her.” She paused to gather her thoughts before continuing. “I still don’t know that we can trust that blacksmith.”

Rickon snapped his head around at the words. He looked truly stunned as if by last night’s actions the man proved himself a worthy addition to their entourage. “Arya says he is as good a man as any and I believer her Sansa. She said he protected her many times and saved her life, I think he deserves a chance.”

“She talks about him in her sleep you know?” She looked to Rickon then and could see him try to stifle a chuckle. He didn’t know what it was like sleeping beside her while she tossed and turned calling out the name of her the bastard blacksmith. “She shouts about how he left her. How do we know he won’t pull a stunt like that again?”

“I think we just have to play it by ear Sansa. Give him a chance. No matter how angry Arya is with him she still trusts him.” It seemed strange that she would do such a thing. Arya had become one who would sooner kill those who betrayed her before giving them an ounce of trust. Sansa opened her mouth to protest but he had noticed and gave her a simple shake of his head before sitting up and pulling the covers from across his lap. “Promise me you’ll give him a chance.”

After slipping back into his boots he stood to leave but when she replied with her promise her turned and gave a small sad smile before wrenching the tent open and disappearing into the heat of the afternoon.

Sansa was about to doze off herself when a maid burst into the tent startling both her and Arya from their sleep. “M’ladys.” She said with a simple curtsy. “The Kingslayer and his men have returned from the Dreadfort. Lord Snow requests your presence.”

“Very well.” Sansa urged, disentangling herself from Arya’s clutching arms. “Fetch two dresses from my chest and see if you can get one to fit her.” Arya groaned and pulled the furs over her head. She had always hated wearing dresses but she needed to be presentable to the arriving Lords as a Princess of Winterfell.

“Yes Your Grace.” The woman began to hurriedly make preparations. Sansa watched as the woman filled the wooden tub with the remaining buckets of water and poured the bath oils into the mixture. Before waiting for privacy or assistance Sansa stood, removed her smallclothes and slid her bare body into the warmth of the water.

“Ensure she puts on a dress.” Sansa bellowed pointing across the tent to Arya. “She is to dress properly in the presence of Lords.” She briefly heard a mumble of words from the handmaiden but the rest was illegible as she slid beneath the waters surface.

She stood bare as her name day and let the water trickle from her porcelain skin. The handmaiden carefully dried the droplets of water and handed her a new set of smallclothes. “You are beautiful princess.” The woman stated simply while she brushed her endless auburn curls.

Sansa didn’t respond. She was transfixed with watching Arya in her dress. She stood in front of the looking glass turning and twisting to look at her curves in the grey silk dress. The dress had no neckline and instead cut straight across her chest just above the small swell of her breasts. It was made to emphasize that she was a woman grown now and not the boy she dressed like. “How are you liking the dress?”

Arya jumped at the question and looked away from the mirror as if pretending that she had never been admiring herself. “Don’t you think silk is a bit silly for the North Sansa? It is winter after all.” She responded curtly but with a slight smile when she saw herself in the glass again.

“You have plenty of furs sweet sister. Besides we are only going to Jon’s tent because the Keep still hasn't been cleared.”


	4. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

Sansa Stark was the very picture of beauty she always was. The very image of the maiden had been bestowed to her, yet now she seemed different, harder and sterner than before. As if her soft, caring nature had melted away in the Vale leaving behind an emotionless exterior. Arya on the other hand had changed much more. She looked every bit a woman now, which was drastically different to when he last saw the fiery Arya Underfoot.

“Ser Jaime.” Her soft singsong voice rang through the tense atmosphere and he turned to her with a smile. “It is so good to see you once more.” Her words were innocent but there was a sly undercurrent and he listened intently. “I hear you have successfully taken the Dredfort.”

She came to stand before him and gave a soft touch on his wrist to which he bowed and gently kissed her had. When he rose to her eyes again she was studying him intently with something akin to a scowl. “I thank you my Princess.” He replied sweetly.

“Perhaps you would come tell us of your victory later. Would you care to dine with the Starks this eve Ser Jaime?” her expression was unreadable to him but he was sure that she wouldn’t be pleased. He and his men may have rescued her from the Vale but in another life he had pushed her brother from a window, a fall that left him crippled.

“It would be my honour Princess.” He bent and kissed her hand once more, never letting his eyes leave her beautiful blue ones. “I thank you for your time.” She turned away and he watched intently as her hips swayed with every step she took towards the Lord Commander.

“Ser Jaime.” Arya urged in a snappy whisper. “Look at her arse again and I will personally geld you.” She glared at him with cold eyes. “How do we know where your loyalties lie Ser? You may have been granted temporary asylum in the North for saving my sister and fighting for Daenerys but as soon as we are done with you I will send you south so she may have your head.”

 “You speak as if you wish to do it yourself Lady Stark.” He quipped with a smile playing at his lips that received him an angry scowl and a thump on the shoulder. “You’ve got some arm on you Lady Stark.”

“I am no lady Ser and it would do you justice to remember that.” She looked up at him again and when her eyes met his a small mischievous smile bloomed on her lips. “You pushed my brother from a window Ser Jaime.” She whispered. “I would gladly take your head and send it for her.”

Jon Snow’s voice boomed over all the others when he called his sisters to his side and recounted the tales from the night before. He had heard from the men outside some of what had happened but there was more to it than what those men had said. Planning and strategy had gone into every detail, but one name stood apart from the others, Gendry Waters, the King’s bastard and the once heir to the Iron Throne.

 _Perhaps I could use this as leverage in my case. Surely the knowledge of the King’s own son traipsing around in the North could be used to my advantage. Perhaps I may keep my head after all._ The noise of a raven’s caw and boots on the wooden of the floor brought him from his thoughts.

Jaime turned to face the entrance of the tent but his view was blocked by the broad, towering stature of Sandor Clegane. “Lord Snow, we have received word from King’s Landing. I was told by Maester Tarly that it is for your eyes only.” The sound startled him more than it should have. It was the voice of a young man but still one he recognized.

“Bring it forward boy.” Snow called and the boy sauntered towards the desk across the tent. His face was still obscured from Jaime’s view but he saw the golden hair and the pudgy stature of the boy. He could almost picture the inset bright green eyes and the sad white smile.

“My lord,” He sounded so much younger when he was unsure of himself. “Could I see my, the Kingslayer before you send him South. I, I would like to ask him something.” There was no mistaking him then. That was his nephew, his _son_ , standing before Lord Snow asking to see his father. “I want to ask him why.”

It knocked the air from his chest when the boy turned and locked eyes with him. There was no love in his stare only resentment and hatred for everything he did. Tommen and Myrcella, his children, were there in Winterfell and they hated him, they wanted nothing more to do with him than to ask him how he could love his own sister.


	5. The Golden Age

She’d pounded on the door several times before he opened it. There he stood before them, the gallant Jaime Lannister, the golden knight, the vile Kingslayer and her _father_. “Ser Jaime, or should I call you _father_ now.” The way she spat the words at him made him grimace, which did nothing to help his handsome Lannister features.

He had once been her favourite person in the Red Keep, the only person who realised what a monster Joffrey was and always protected her when he could. He was the man who would bring her sweets and call her his ‘special girl’ and now it all meant nothing. He looked as if he expected them to love him for being their father but she could never do that.

She had once wished that he could be her father instead of fat old King Robert Baratheon, the whoremonger. She may have wanted it then but she never wanted it like this, she never wanted to know he bedded her mother and passed the three golden babes off as heirs to the Seven Kingdoms.

“You monster, why did you do it? Why did you fuck your sister?!” Tommen demanded. He was furious now that he knew what everything meant. When they first heard the news he was nothing but a little boy hearing that his favourite uncle was his father. But now, at the age of six-and-ten he knew what it meant, he knew that Jaime would’ve had to fuck his own sister to be his father.

“Please come in.” Were the only words he uttered, when he stepped to the side and waved them into his worthless room. She didn’t expect anything more from him; he had always been a simple man who never spoke his mind.

Myrcella slowly entered the room with Tommen following cautiously at her heels. He was nervous and she could tell without him expressing any words. She loved her brother but she could never think of him in the way her parents did.

Once they were both inside and comfortably situated in a seat by the window did he close the door and move towards them. The cold night breeze flowed through the open window filling the space with an eerie silence that hung over them.

The day had passed by quickly and crews had managed to clear the Great Hall and several rooms of the Keep so that people could begin to move in. Many rooms still remained empty and large sections of the roof were missing because of the fire but she could almost remember what it had looked like when she was last there nine years before. When her family was still in one piece.

That had been before Ned Stark came to King’s Landing as Hand of the King, before the King had died and Joffrey after him, before Tommen had taken the throne and Margaery Tyrell has his wife and before her mother had followed much of her family to an early grave at the hands of the Dragon Queen.

“Why did you do it Ser?” She blurted without truly thinking what she had said. She still couldn’t bring herself to call him father even if he was her blood.

“Cersei and I, we came into this world together. My hand was wrapped around her ankle and was never letting go. We grew up together, we learned together and we loved each other. I loved my sister and I would never be accepted for it so we kept is secret.” He said, his voice almost a whisper.

“And passed your bastards off as the King’s heirs. Did you not think of what that might have done, look at Joffrey for gods’ sake. He was a monster. You could have saved the realm from that tragedy if you had just kept your god forsaken lust to your gods’ damned selves.” She was calm, calm as still water as Arya would say. She couldn’t let him see that it angered her. Tommen was different; he was silent but fuming with rage. He was red in the face and she could practically see the steam flowing from his ears.

Jaime said nothing. He sat in total silence studying them as if it was them that were the monsters. He looked as if it pained him for the products of his greatest sin to hate him as much as it did and she struggled to contain her rage.

“Ser Jaime.” Tommen finally said through clenched teeth. “If you loved her so much, why did you let her marry a man who didn’t love her? He may have been the man who raised me till his death but he was just as vile a man as you. He hurt my mother and bedded whores; _you_ killed a king and fathered bastards to pass off as heirs to the Throne. I bet you father is tossing and turning in his grave right now, I bet he thinks what you did a sin as much as anyone else. How could you think we would ever love you for this?”

“Tommen, Myrcella I never meant to hurt either of you, we never meant to hurt either of you. We loved each…” he began to be cut of by the violent scraping of her chair on the floor and a soft hand connecting sharply with his face.

She pushed up from her seat and placed both hands on the table looking him straight in the eye. “What you had was not love you disgusting monster! That was lust for something you couldn’t have. You’ve always been like that. You’ve always wanted everything no one could ever give you. You bastard, you are just as bad a man as our dear sweet father was.”

“He was not your father, I am.” He stood so he towered more than a head taller than her. Rage burned in his eyes but he never raised a hand. She could see the red mark just below his Lannister emerald eyes from where her hand had connected to his face.

Tommen stood and pounded his fists into the table before yelling into the face of the Kingslayer. “He raised us more than you ever did. He may not have been there when we were sick or when we were born but he hugged us and kissed us and he did everything you would expect from a man like him. All you did was stand guard outside his door and listen while he fucked his maid instead of your sister!”

“I tried…” He began to say again but he was cut off by another slap. Myrcella had once tried to control her anger towards him but bottling it up only made it worse.

“You vile sisterfucking cunt, you incestuous bastard. What in the seven fucking hells were you thinking? She was your fucking sister! You didn’t try to do anything but get up our mother’s skirt!” She yelled. She hated him. She hated her favourite uncle for being with the woman he _loved_. She was angry with him and angry with herself. She tried everything she could to stop the tears that were biting at her eyes but nothing helped and the came. “You monster!” She yelled but there was no force to her words and she collapsed in a fit of sobs.

Tommen linked his arm in hers and helped her from the floor. “Myrcella I think it’s best we leave.” He stood holding all the weight of her small frame. “Good day to you Kingslayer. I hope all fares well in the South and you get to keep your head.” Jaime looked hurt but she couldn’t bring herself to feel any more guilt for him. “Please don’t come to see us when the Queen comes or anytime before that. I think it will be best for us all.”

The golden knight looked as if he would weep and he turned quickly to the window without another word as they strolled from the room. Once the door closed behind them and they were alone in the hall she waited and listened for any sound of his cries but there was none so she let Tommen lead her away back to her chambers. _Farewell Kingslayer._


	6. Edge of Tomorrow

“Were not siblings anymore Jon, we don’t have to hide from them. We can tell them.” Her face was so close to his he could feel her warm breath on his lips. “We can’t keep hiding like this. It will be much worse if someone finds us.”

She was pressing closer and closer to him with every word. She had once looked at him with nothing but hatred for being her father’s bastard son but when she came to the wall something changed in her. The hatred in her eyes had turned to lust even before she knew he was her cousin.

“Tomorrow!” He promised before meeting her ever-eager lips with his own. A yelp escaped her mouth at first as if surprised he would heed her advances but she was soon sighing into him, letting him hold her weight with his hands on her arse.

Their kiss was warm and frantic, wanting to savour every touch and when his mouth fell open and accepting she took charge and her tongue darted in. He gave it a soft nip with his teeth and she pulled it back. However she was not displeased because her soft lips curled into a smile against his.

While leaving one hand fisted into his doublet she let the other snake around his neck and run into is hair. A small moan escaped her lips once she was comfortable which only spurred him further. He responded by spinning them around and lifting her against the wall.

He trailed kisses across her jaw and the soft skin along her neck and she leaned into him with every touch of his lips to her skin. She kicked her legs around his waist pulling his hardened member closer and closer to the ever-present dampness between her thighs. His hand was on her breast and his head at her shoulder when she leaned to him and pleaded almost silently for him to fuck her.

“Sansa?” He’d never heard a curse fall from her beautiful lips, not even in the bedchamber and he pulled his head up at the language. “What a word for a proper lady to use. I like it when you say it like that.”

“Fuck me Jon. Fuck me ‘till I fall apart.” She tightened her legs and he felt a rush of pleasure surge through him but when she moaned from the touch he couldn’t stop. He hiked up her skirts so he could reach is hand between them and he wasn’t surprised to find that she wore no small clothes. “Here?” Was all she managed to stifle out when his finger slipped between her moist folds.

Sansa Stark Princess of the North was literally wrapped around his finger in every sense of the word. She began to moan and curse the moment he slipped a second finger inside and with every retreat and re-entry her moans just grew louder and it was a wonder no one heard them in the barren halls of the keep.

“Jon!” she yelled as loud as her fragile voice allowed when she finally came with his fingers inside her. She had a glow about her then with her fiery auburn hair and her snowy white skin similar to his own. “Oh Jon.” She sounded almost sad that her pleasure was spent and whimpered when he pulled his fingers away.

They glistened in the dim candlelight from her release that still clung to them and she watched intently as he liked the sweet moisture from his fingers. Ready to leave her he let her gently slip from the wall, his hardness almost forgotten until her hand rasped it firmly through his breeches. “Were not done.” She whispered with a kiss against his neck.

When she moved her head again he met her lips with his and pushed her back against the wall. he gently traced his tongue along her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to him with a gasp as his cock twitched in her grip. Before he realised what she was doing she had her skirts bundled in her hand and her leg around his pleading him to lift her again.

She pressed her warmth against his member and it sent a rush of electricity through him. She was teasing him by pressing further and further to his hardened length without letting him in. she wanted him to break first, to pull her up and sheath himself inside her but he wouldn’t break not when he could get her to.

He reached a hand between them and gently stroked at her folds, pulling lightly on her little auburn curls between her thighs and moving himself with her motions. As he knew she would she broke from the tension climbed higher on his body and sank back town so she completely enveloped him.

“I know what you’re doing,” She groaned. “And I like it Lord Snow.” She slowly began to rise and fall against him, he met each of her little movements with hard thrusts of his hips that created the sweet slapping sound of skin on skin. Every time she came closer and closer to the edge her walls tightened and it was all he could do not to spend himself then and there but he waited and held his need until she was done.

When she was it was a sweet victory. Her legs squeezed his hips closer to hers, her back arched off the wall with a cry and her gentle cunt closing in on his shaft. He nestled his head into her shoulder to stifle his moans when he spilt his seed inside her and for once he actually hoped it would quicken. “I love you.” She chanted in his ear. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

“And I you Princess.”


	7. For Whom the Bell Tolls

The tolling bells sounded overhead that morning like they always did but the tolling sounded uneven and like it was being hit with a rod rather than a copper weight. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to spring form the bed and check the bells but there he was standing face to face with the solid wood door. The only sound in his ears was the clanking of the sword against the iron bell.

Until a man’s voice carried faintly above the sound “… Please just listen to me.” Every time he spoke the clanking grew louder and louder. “Arya, stop that you are going to hurt yourself.” _Arya? Who is she talking to?_

The bell stopped and she screamed “You stupid bastard! You want me to just forgive you. You left me, you fucking left me!” He could hear the rage in her voice and he could tell she was doing her best not to cry and suddenly it dawned on him who the man was.

“You left first! You ran off with that dog and didn’t come back until you were satisfied! Where were you then? I took a knighthood because I thought _you_ had left _me_!” The man yelled. He heard the sound of a sword cutting through the air multiple times and quick footsteps on the hard stone. “What the fuck Arya?”

“He was going to take me back to my mother and brother unlike that damned Brotherhood. You’re an oathbreaker you promised me you would never leave and you did. I thought you were my pack but you were nothing more than one of them!” The sword fell to the floor and Arya broke into a fit of sobs. “You left me.”

“I didn’t leave you! I wasn’t the one who ran away to Braavos to become a faceless killer. I never left you, you left me.” He yelled, slamming something into a wooden table with a crunch that sent it collapsing to the floor.

“Don’t judge me like that, at least I knew who I was killing. How many people did you kill? How many of their names did you know? I knew every single name and every single face. You looked into a helm and crushed a breastplate with your hammer just like your father.” She was screaming and it was a wonder he hadn’t heard them before.

“I am nothing like my father Arya. I would never do what he did. You of all people should know I am nothing like him. You’re right, I didn’t know the names of most people I had to kill but I killed far less than I could’ve done.” A boot scuffed the floor and what sounded like a brass cup rolled and hit the door.

She slapped him and mumbled something he couldn’t hear before shouting again. “You ungrateful bull. You bastard. You fucking left me. I had no one left but you and you just left me. To the seven hells with you!”

“Arya I thought you were gone. I thought you were going back to your home. I thought I would never see you again.” Rickon had heard all he needed to. He didn’t need to know any more about the bull and he knew all he wanted to about Arya’s life.

“I don’t want your fucking apology, I came back for you and…” That was the last he heard before he sprinted down the stairs into the courtyard. His eyes searched the square for somewhere to hide, anywhere he could slip into the darkness but there was nothing close at hand so he made a mad dash to find Sansa.

In searching for her he never expected for her to look for him and when he rounded a corner and sent her sprawling to the muddy earth he was thrown flat on his back in shock. “Seven hells Rickon!” Sansa cursed as she steadied herself on her elbows and glared at him. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

He stood and brushed himself off before offering a hand to help Sansa from the dirt. “Not now Sansa I need to talk to you.” He continued on demanding she listen to him about Arya but she held up a hand and he stopped knowing that was a sign she’d had enough.

“I don’t need to hear about Arya’s troubles now, we both know she won’t let anyone into that room to talk to her.” She paused slightly and Rickon wondered if he should elaborate on Arya’s situation, tell her that she wasn’t in the rom but he thought better of it. “I want to know something else Rickon.” She leaned close and whispered for fear of who might hear. “Who was in your room this morning? I went to find you and there was a woman sleeping in your bed. Promise me you won’t do something stupid.”

“Do you really think me stupid Sansa? Do you really think I would go around fucking whores and fathering bastards?” She looked at him dumbfounded as if she was astonished. “It’s not important who she is just leave it alone and don’t ever ask about ever it again.” He brushed away the question and turned to walk away but Sansa gently tugged on the sleeve of his tunic and he turned to face her.

“Promise me Rickon, we can’t deal with any more slander to our name.” She was pleading and her voice was soft but her eyes were glazed, holding back unwanted tears. “We’ve dealt with enough of it, Father, Mother, Rob. I’ve had enough.”

He pulled her close to him and wrapped her in a warm embrace. He knew she wanted to cry or to express some kind of emotion but emotion was a weakness and they knew that someone wouldn’t hesitate to strike again at the first sign of weakness. “I promise Sansa.” She and Arya were more similar than they knew.

He released her and she went on her way back towards the Keep leaving him to his thoughts while he stalked the courtyard, kicking at stones in the dust. What had happened in the tower puzzled him and when he had seen the blacksmith leave with his head in his hands he simply became curious as to what he had missed. He had just got his sisters back and he was already loosing them to their past. 

“Rickon.” The familiar voice called. “Rickon I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He ran his hands through his unruly auburn curls and turned to face her. She stood just beneath him, his nose hitting the top of her head despite their age difference. She was the picture of beauty to him despite what anyone else could say.

He laid a gentle hand on her left cheek, rubbing gentle circles over the roughened grey patches with his thumb and she leaned eagerly into the touch. “You’re beautiful Shireen, don’t let anyone tell you different.” She wrapped her fingers into the cloth of his waistcoat and her lips met his with a soft chaste kiss and even when she pulled away he held her close to him. 

“Everyone always says you have an wild temper my love but you are never less than gentle to me.” She whispered into the nape of his neck. “You have been gentle since the day we met at Castle Black. I have never had a true friend until I met you Rickon Stark.” Her words seemed almost pained by the memory despite the smile he felt on her lips. “Thank you.”


	8. The Last Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my best chapter because I always find it quite hard to write Daenerys but I will try to have another chapter up later.

She was never as comfortable in King’s Landing as she was in Vaes Dothrak or even roaming the Dothraki Sea but it was where she was needed. Daenerys wanted more than anything to be free of the confinements of the Keep, to be away from the prying eyes of court but she still did not trust Aegon enough to leave him with that sort of power and it would only become worse after his marriage to the maiden rose.

It had been more than nine years since she crossed from Essos and still she felt weary of her companions, even her ladies, the women who were supposed to be her friends, were strangers to her. The only family she had was long gone and she was left with one estranged nephew, that reminded her far too much of Viserys, and another hidden away in the unforgiving North

“Daenerys!” Aegon yelled outside the doors to her solar. “Tell this ignorant cunt of a night to let me pass! I need to speak with you!” Every day he sounded more and more like her brother and less like the boy she met all those years before.

The aging knight entered with a bow before beginning to protest “Khaleesi…” But Aegon swiftly cut off his speech with his blind rage.

“You would do right to remember she is now the queen of Westeros Lord Commander, not some filthy horsefuckers slut any longer.” His ever present scowl deepened at his own words and it was a sick thought that her own kin thought her a disgrace. “I must speak with you _Your Grace_.” The way he spat the words at her made her grimace but she simply nodded and he waved Ser Barristan away.

“Ladies if you will?” Daenerys stood from behind her desk and gestured for her incredibly boring companions to depart her chamber. “I thank you for your company.” Each left in succession after the Lord Commander but Margaery lingered at Aegon’s arm for a moment with one of her conniving smiles spread from ear to ear.

Only after the door was shut and the footsteps receded to a safe distance did Aegon begin in a hushed and angry tone. “What is this business I hear of you going North? I thought we settled all our affairs with my brother and his she wolves.” It seemed by then that it would be impossible for his scowl to grow any deeper.

She turned to the window with a sigh “Aegon I only wish to visit our family. Besides I figured now would be a good time before Jon’s wedding and Sansa’s baby. This may be our last chance to see them for years.”

“That does not mean you have to bring me along.” He grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face him. “I have no wish to return to that miserable wasteland of a kingdom. The deal was he got Winterfell and the Stark _bitch_ and they wouldn’t interfere with us. Why do you wish so much to see those damned cravens with their frozen…”

Before he could utter another insulting word her hand had connected with his cheek and he was clutching it desperately as if she had cut his _pretty_ face wit a rusted blade. “I will not have you insult my friends and your family. We may have given them their kingdom but Jon swore to me that if we ever needed it we had their support.”

“I would rather have the Lannister dog fighting at my side than that faceless Wolfling. In case you forgot Daenerys they are born of traitors blood, blood which should be spilled not rewarded.” He had hated Jon from the day he met his father’s _bastard_ son and the hatred only grew when he was told that Jon was the fabled ‘prince who was promised’.

Her laugh startled him and he looked pained to find something funny in what he said. “You may have been a sellsword nephew but you were a shit one and you would die in war long before either of those Stark girls without your dragon. Pray he outlives you.” 

“You useless bitch, you filthy horsefucker. I didn’t have the luxury you had to live peacefully in a manor house in the free cities. I lived on the run from the moment I left this shithole until the moment I returned. We are the last dragons and I will not sit by and let some crow father another one. I only spare him because you favour him and his pretty little bird.”

“You insult her yet you are soon to marry the Queen of Thorns, that maiden rose has her spikes embedded deep within you and you will never be free. Don’t forget that all three of her marriages have ended badly, twice widowed and once disgraced.” He writhed under her cold stare before she continued. “If you ever insult me again I will have your tongue served to the dogs.” She turned back to the window and called for the Lord Commander.

Ser Barristan entered with a loud thud from the door and tried to usher Aegon from the room only to be shouted at about how he was a “useless twat” and a “shitty knight” but every insult he flung at him only made Daenerys chuckle more.

When she had heard the door click shut once more she turned her attention back to the parchment in her bodice. She took the rolled paper from between her breasts and took care to savour the beautiful red dragon and wolf seal. Her eyes carefully scanned the words for anything she might miss. That letter held every promise of family and gave her the same feeling she had once had when she was young with her own brother before he turned into the vengeful madman everyone knew. 

“Ser Barristan.” She called and he entered the solar with a bow. “Have a squire begin preparations for the North. Recruit as many men as possible for the Wall and bring forth four of our best horses.” He nodded and turned to leave but before he was out the door she added. “And enough food to last all of Winterfell two winters.”


	9. Anger Management

The dining hall was full to the bursting point for the feast Jon had organised. He wanted to celebrate their accomplishments but it seemed he also had something else in mind. The only thing worse than being cramped into a room that smelled of death and burning flesh was that he had to sit across from the girl who had once been his friend.

Earlier that morning he’d found her in the tower taking her anger out on the copper bell creating a dreadful ringing and sending vibrations deep into his chest. That was the most she had spoken to him in years and it was all insults. It hurt to know how she felt and to know that he obviously cared more for her than she did for him.

He hated himself for what he did, for how upset it made her. She had been so hurt and he didn’t even have the chance to explain that he did it for her, that he did it so they could be friends, before she was gone. She fled to Braavos never planning to return.

She didn’t even remember that he was the one who found her, alone and starving in a gutter. She didn’t remember that it was him who was tasked by Stannis to find her and that it was him who took her to Daenerys instead. He saved her and she didn’t even remember it. _Why won’t she just fucking listen to me? Why won’t she just let me tell her?_

After everything he did for her the one thing she remembered about him is what he didn’t do. He didn’t stay with her when she needed him most and he had always regretted that decision. She wouldn’t even look at him anymore and they hadn’t seen each other in almost three years.

“Arry!” He shouted to her over the music and yelling of the rowdy men and women. “Arya look at me.” He tried to turn her face tried to get her to listen to him and when she finally did it was only to point a knife at his throat. “Arya I just want to talk.”

The blade had reached his neck before she even lifted her eyes from her food. “Touch me again bull, and I’ll cut you open from your balls to your brain and you will never see it coming.” She spat. “I’m sure there are plenty other women who would gladly share your company.”

Before he could say anything again Jon stood with enough force to knock his chair out from under him with a loud bang that turned all eyes to the dais. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. As all of you probably know by now I have decided to take the Targaryen namesake and all that goes with it which means I will soon have to take a wife.”

Murmurs spread across the hall but none seemed as surprised as they should have until Jon offered his hand to Sansa. “No!” Rickon stood and slammed a fist into the table. “No! Not this. Not you. No!” His arm swept across the table, knocking wine and food into the guests’ laps and onto the floor. “This isn’t happening. You fucked my sister. You arse! You fucking cunt! You fucked my sister!”

“Rickon please calm down.” He recognised the girl that spoke but he couldn’t put a name to her. She looked just like him even with the rough grey patches along her neck. She looked almost as if she was pleading him and when he looked down at her his expression softened even for only a quick moment before he gripped the table and flung it from the dais.

Rage burned in his eyes and people were beginning to run screaming from the hall but the girl stood, defiant and placed a hand on his chest. She pleaded him to stop, pushed against him when he tried to move and it almost seemed to calm him. Until Jon announced the baby and Rickon charged at him, knocking him to the floor.

He was throwing punches and yelling but Jon did nothing to stop him, he just let him burn out his anger. “You ignorant bastard! You fucking twat! You fucked my sister Jon, that’s Sansa not some whore. And you got a child on her. You arse!” he was punching and kicking but all eyes were on the black haired girl.

She was standing on the remaining table yelling, “Rickon.” She called out to him. “Rickon Stop!” No one expected him to budge, even Gendry expected him to just keep punching but his fist stopped mid air and flopped to his side. One hand was fisted in Jon’s doublet and the other a bloody mess but he didn’t move from atop him.

“Jon?” Rickon blinked rapidly as if he had been in a daze. “Jon did I do this?” They all just looked at him like this had happened before, like he just spirals into a fit of rage he cant even remember. “Someone tell me now. Did I do this?” It only took one look at his surroundings for him to know the answer and he leapt away. “I did this, I beat him to a bloody pulp and for what?" 

The girl grasped his tunic ad he grasped it with his own larger one. “Rickon it’s ok.” He may have smiled then but there were tears in his eyes when he ran from the hall completely ashamed. “Rickon? Rickon stop please.”


	10. Shadow of the Wolf

_The dark of night had always been a peaceful place for Arya even in her wolf dreams when anything could be lurking in the shadows. She felt branches crunch on the forest floor beneath her feet, it was a satisfying sound but she also had a strange feeling that she was being followed. She knew her cousins were somewhere in the woods nearby but that wasn’t it, it was someone else, someone she didn’t trust._

_Then the other crunch sounded, one that wasn’t from her feet. It was louder, closer than before and she hadn’t noticed to shadow looming over her. She smelled the stables and the heart tree but what unnerved her most was the voice, a voice she recognised but hadn’t heard in years and it sounded like the whispers in the Godswood “Nymeria, to me.”_

She woke up screaming in a cold sweat. Flickers of the man on the back of a giant flickered through her mind. The crunching of the branches and the voice repeated over and over in her ears. _That voice I know that voice_. Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted and all she could see was darkness pure unrelenting darkness.

Flashes of memories played before her. She saw her parents watching Bran practice archery. She saw the way her mother looked at Jon, that unforgiving hatred she possessed for him. _If only she’d known_. She saw Sansa sewing with the septa, mundane or something like that. Robb practiced swords with Jon and Ser Rodrik. Then she saw herself running in her tattered dress back towards the Keep and she realised that was the day everything changed. The day the King came to Winterfell.

Suddenly her vision was clear again and Gendry was standing in the doorway with a sword in hand. “I heard your scream m’lady. I thought something was wrong.” She just stared at him. No matter how many bad memories this boy brought to mind she always had that warm heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach when their eyes met.

She didn’t know what the feeling was. She didn’t know how to explain it because she’d never felt it before, not even with the men she laid with in Braavos. She found her eyes roaming his shirtless body, up and down, left to right, and he could see what she was doing he knew her eyes were mapping him and he shifted under her gaze.

“M’lady is everything alright?” Her eyes darted back to his at the question and she felt a nervous smile creep across her face. She couldn’t form words, nothing came out right so she just nodded but her eyes never left his. “Shall I put on a tunic and come back or are you going to hold your promise to gut me?”

“You would know if I still planned to do that because you wouldn’t be standing there if I was.” She had meant it to sound a threat but it sounded different, better, inviting him and she watched as he took step after step until he was at the foot of the bed. A howl ripped through the silence and her heart jumped from fright.

“You really shouldn’t be scared of them little wolf. They mean you no harm. Me on the other hand they wouldn’t hesitate to kill.” He seemed to jape but it scared her. Her heart was beating fast as all the thoughts rushed through her head, _What if what I saw was real? Who was the man? What does he want with us? And why is he so close to Winterfell?_

Then she felt the hot tears streaking down her cheeks and all other feelings dissipated.  “It was Bran, I saw Bran. He’s alive Gendry I know it.” She watched with foggy eyes as he moved to the bed and settled himself next to her.

He was holding her too his chest, his bare chest, and stroking her hair. It reminded her of when they were on the road and even when he found her in Braavos. He thought she didn’t remember or couldn’t remember when he found her but it was what she remembered most about him despite the deep-set anger she held. “Arya it’s ok. If he’s there we’ll find him. Everything will be ok. There’s no need to cry.”

“I’m sorry Gendry, I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for ever being mad at you. I’m sorry for never thanking you for Braavos. I’m sorry I never told you that I loved you. I’m sorry I got mad when you said you were leaving me but I just, I didn’t understand why it was so easy for you to leave me after everything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have left you. I just thought that if I had some sort of name that maybe I would be worthy of you. I didn’t take the knighthood to get away from you, I took it to be with you because I loved you too.” His hold grew firmer around her and he clutched her closer to his chest. “Arry I still love you.”

“I never thought I’d see you again. I didn’t know it was love then I was just a girl but now I do; now I know that I love you because I know what it feels like.” She felt his lips press gently to her forehead but she couldn’t stop the crying, for him or for her brother.

He cupped her cheeks and turned her head to face his. “I love you Arya and I’ll never leave you again I promise.” He pressed a soft chaste kiss to her lips before returning her head to where it was. “I’m not going anywhere.”

_Nymeria, to me._


	11. The Myth of the White Wolf

“Nymeria where are they? Are they near? Take us to them.” The stubborn wolf continued to sit there on her haunches simply watching them with a quizzical look on her face. She didn’t believe it was Bran but they all seemed to know that if she had seen them as a threat they wouldn’t be alive.

“Nymeria? Which sibling does that belong to?” It was a girls voice, a voice Nymeria had never heard before. “Is this your sisters wolf?” The young woman stepped out of the shadows; her brown hair looked almost ebony in the moonlight.

“Sisters wolf indeed. Nymeria… Nymeria can you hear me? We mean you no harm Arya, we come in peace.” There was another boy, a smaller thinner one, one that could walk much unlike Bran since his fall. “Arya we don’t wish to hurt you.”

“Hodor?” The dim-witted giant. All he could say was that annoying word. She’d heard it so many times she could hear it in her sleep. What the word meant no one knew.

The girl scanned the darkness around them. “The girl isn’t here Jojen.” She sounded annoyed, the boy must’ve been her brother if she knew his name and spoke to him that way. “Bran I’m sure they’re near. Just no here.” She could see a look in the girl’s eyes, one much like the ones her master gave the blacksmith boy.

“She’s listening. They hear everything the wolf hears.” The boy, _Jojen_ , crouched in front of her and stretched out an arm. “Arya if you hear me command the wolf forward.” He waited but Nymeria didn’t move. “Arya?”

“She’s not listening Jojen, She must be awake.” _Awake indeed, and crying in the strong, comforting arms of the blacksmith boy. She will sleep soon but all this will only scare her more._ Nymeria had no wish to scare her master so she ran and hoped the others followed. The cold wind swept through her fur, it was a comforting feeling, a feeling she wished she could share with the other wolves. But she had ordered them to stay behind, she knew something was coming south she could feel summer getting closer.

The other wolf was suddenly at her side, stretching its head out and nipping at her ears. _He wants me to stop. Pah let him try to catch me._ So she ran, she had always been faster than her bigger brothers and she was just as strong. They much resembled their masters.

A howl erupted through the night as she neared Winterfell’s walls. _Ghost_. He could feel them approaching, he knew who followed and so she stopped and waited. She felt her master dose off, slipping into a deep sleep in the boys arms and she wondered if the boy slept too, if he would stay and protect her. He had promised he loved her and maybe he would keep her safe. The great white wolf with his silent red eyes and the big black beast with his fury filled yellow ones stood at her sides to watch the return of the placid brown brother they had not seen since nine years before.

 _Wake master, come to the gate, you must see your brother return. Please wake Arya, you must see this._ She hoped the commands went both ways, Arya needed to be here when Bran came, when the last wolf returned.


End file.
